


Grief

by Syrum



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Death of an animal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heartbreak, I know half of them haven't interacted with the other half yet, M/M, Minor Character Death, also I needed positive Georgi, and they will probably dislike each other, but eh, everyone loves Yuuri, get the tissues out, losing a pet, playing fast and loose with ep 1, this one's sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 14:18:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8627845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrum/pseuds/Syrum
Summary: When Yuri Plisetsky doesn't turn up to practice on time, Yuuri offers to look for the young skater.What he finds is enough to break his heart; Yuri, torn apart by grief, suffering alone.Yuuri knows this, knows this pain, and is determined not to let Yuri suffer through it on his own.





	

**Author's Note:**

> SO I was supposed to be updating Shield/Heart today, rather than this, since tomorrow is THAT day...
> 
> But this happened and then there were tears and I had to tone down on the sad. Come, cry with me.

Their practice had been scheduled to start at ten - early enough to allow for a decent warm up beforehand, yet not so early that breakfast would sit too heavily on their stomachs.  Yuuri, for one, was glad of that; he was still far from used to Russian breakfasts.  They had arrived early though; Victor had wanted to go over some breathing techniques with Yuuri before the others arrived, the rink empty save themselves for a good half an hour.

Yakov had arrived first, which Yuuri had not been expecting.  Mila and Georgi were only minutes behind, and he could feel their eyes on him as he skated in a seemingly random pattern of jumps and spins, focusing on his flip as his blood began to warm under the frigid temperature.  It perhaps should have bothered him, their curious glances falling his way more often than not, yet he felt no animosity from either of the pair.

Which was fortunate, he supposed; he already had someone for that.

The clock ticked to half past ten, and Georgi slipped out onto the ice, done with his stretches.  Yuuri immediately changed his route, leaving room for the other skater.  Yet, Georgi seemed adamant at moving as close as he possibly could without endangering them both, a critical eye watching his every move.  It was perhaps a bit too personal for Yuuri’s tastes, and he felt the initial bubble of nervous embarrassment start to flicker in his chest.

“Your scratch spin exit is slightly off balance; slow it down, it will make the next motion less clumsy.”  Georgi’s English was not quite so smooth as Victor’s, yet it was clear enough, and Yuuri watched as the man slid away from him to demonstrate.  It was a basic move, one of the first he had ever perfected, and yet as he watched the Russian carry out a flawless spin Yuuri wondered what he had been doing to get such a simple move so wrong that it was noticeable.  How had Georgi noticed, right away?

How had Victor  _ not? _

He did as instructed, slowing the move right down and paying attention to his feet, his arms, the position of his blades on the ice.  Much to Yuuri’s surprise, it  _ did _ feel smoother, and he glanced up at Georgi with a wide grin.  The older skater seemed pleased with himself, shooting Mila a smug look which she simply rolled her eyes at before sliding out onto the ice herself.

“It’s nice to have someone new to play with.”  She laughed, red hair whipping out behind her as she did a rapid loop of the rink, then another.  “You need to show me that quad flip some time Yuuri, I’ve never been able to land one myself.”  She was, if Yuuri remembered correctly and if nothing had changed recently, the number three female figure skater in the world.  Not a bad feat, considering her young age, and he had watched a few of her competitions in the past.  She was  _ good _ , a little inconsistent at times which had cost her points more than once, but once she worked past those she would quickly rise up those last few places to the very top.

“Maybe once we’re done with practice.”  Yuuri agreed with a nod and a smile, letting her skate circles around him as she warmed up.

“If we ever get  _ started _ .”  Georgi added, sounding a little put out, his nose wrinkling in a way that was  _ almost _ cute.  “Yuri still isn’t here.”

“It isn’t like him to be late.”  Mila agreed, slowing herself and looking contemplative.  “I think I saw his bag in the changing rooms, so he should be here.  I wonder if something’s happened.”

“Mila, go and fetch him.”  Yakov’s voice boomed out over the ice, from where he and Victor had been conversing - and listening in on their conversation, it seemed.  When Yuuri glanced over he could see the slight surprise and - perhaps - mild annoyance on Victor’s face as whatever he had been in the middle of saying was spoken over and entirely disregarded.

Yuuri wasn’t sure that he liked Yakov.

With a long-suffering sigh, and a pout that made her look more like a teenager than an adult - though, Yuuri supposed she was technically  _ both  _ \- Mila started to make her way back towards the exit.  

“It’s okay.”  Yuuri wasn’t certain what possessed him to reach out, to take her shoulder like that, stop her in her tracks.  “I’ll go; you’ve only just got here.”  Mila nodded, looking almost relieved, and with a final blinding smile Yuuri made his exit from the rink.

* * *

Skates were not the easiest things to walk on, outside of the rink.  Even with his blade guards in place, they were not designed for actually  _ walking _ on, and Yuuri wondered why he had not stopped to change out of them before starting his search.

Right, because Yakov had been staring at him again.  Yuuri  _ really _ did not like that man.  He could handle Yakov’s dislike of him; for stealing Victor, for taking a medal from Georgi just by being there.  Yet, his treatment  _ of _ Victor made Yuuri wonder how it had taken so long for him to up and leave.  It  _ also _ made him wonder just what Yakov would do if he simply marched over there and proceeded to kiss Victor senseless.

Later, perhaps, if he didn’t lose his nerve.

The men’s changing rooms were deserted, empty aside from the clothes Georgi had discarded on one of the benches, and the contents of the locker where Yuuri had stashed his own belongings.  He thought, for a moment, that perhaps Mila had been mistaken, that Yuri had likely not arrived yet as there  _ was _ no extra bag in there.

It hit him like a ton of bricks.

Of  _ course _ Yuri’s bag wouldn’t be there, Mila hadn’t been  _ in _ the men’s changing rooms.

She had been in the ladies’ rooms instead.

Yuuri wasn’t going to pretend that slipping into the ladies’ changing rooms unannounced was anything less than entirely mortifying.  Perhaps it was different in other parts of the world, but Japan was quite conservative in nature, and he felt for several long seconds that he could be admonished at any moment by anyone walking in on him.  The door slammed, Yuuri jumped.

“ _ Otva’li _ , Mila.”  The voice was wet, muffled, and very distinctively Yuri’s.  The scrape of his skate guards on the hard flooring made Yuuri wince, yet he had come here for a reason, and he intended to follow through whether Yuri  _ wanted _ to be found or not.

“Sorry, it’s just me.  I’m afraid my Russian isn’t great yet.”  He tried to keep his tone light, yet when Yuri looked up at him the smile plastered across his face faltered for a moment.  

Yuri looked so small, curled into a ball beside the wall of lockers, his eyes red and swollen from too many tears.  His breath hitched as he breathed in through dry lips, and his hair was all over the place; Yuuri wasn’t sure it had seen a hairbrush since at least the night before.  There were bags beneath his eyes which hinted at a sleepless night, and all at once he seemed too thin, too tiny for a boy his age.

“ _ Eto piz’dets _ .”  The mutter was so low that Yuuri barely heard it, muffled within Yuri’s knees as he pulled them tighter to his chest and buried his face in the fabric of his pants.  His shoulders were still shaking, and he did not move when Yuuri shifted to sit beside him, leaving a respectful distance between the two.

“Victor’s been teaching me a few phrases, but I’m afraid I don’t know that one either.”  Not that he particularly needed a translation; Yuuri was certain it was less than complimentary.  The floor was ice cold beneath him where he sat, to the point of discomfort - yet, Yuri had been here since before Mila and Georgi had arrived, perhaps even before he and Victor, so the boy must be frozen by contrast.  Yuuri could withstand a little pain for this.

“I hate you.”  Yuri muttered into his legs, this time in English, and there was no mistaking the intent.  “I hate you  _ so fucking much _ .  Why are you here, huh?  Why do you  _ exist? _ _ Why _ , when I’m so much  _ better _ than you ever were at my age, did he leave us for  _ you? _ ”  When he lifted his head, the tears were escaping too rapidly to keep track of.  Ugly, fat tears that rolled down his face and soaked into his clothes, his hair, everything they touched.  Grief was etched into his young features, a pain that almost floored Yuuri for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Yurio, I can’t-”

“ _ Don’t call me that! _ ”  Yuri all but screamed, cutting him off.  His eyes were wide, unseeing, lips pulled back into a snarl and still the flooding tears escaped.  “You’ve taken everything from me!   _ Don’t _ take my name as well.”

“This is about more than just Victor, isn’t it?”  Yuuri asked softly, rather than wincing away from the onslaught of insults.

“Why the fuck do  _ you _ care?”  It was abrupt, but Yuri seemed to deflate, going quiet once more and Yuuri paused, thinking for a moment.

“I don’t know.”  Yuuri could not put a name to it, as he couldn’t with many things it seemed, yet  _ fondness _ sprang to mind.  “I just know that I do.”  There was a pause, another juddering intake of breath, and Yuri shrank back into himself refusing to meet Yuuri’s eyes.

“ _ Moya koshka _ …”  He paused, swallowed down a sob, and started again.  “My cat.  She...died, last night.”  The tears were falling in earnest, and Yuuri inched closer, not sure whether he should pull the younger skater to him or not.  “She’s been sick for a while, but last night-”  The trembling of shoulders had shifted, travelled until it encompassed the entirety of his slight form, and Yuuri felt his heart crack at the heartbreaking little noises that had started to slip free from the inconsolable teen.  “She fell asleep on my lap, as she always does.  But she never woke up.  She was just-”

“Yuri,”  His hand was hovering bare inches from Yuri’s shoulder, not pressing, not forcing the touch on the distraught skater, simply offering.   _ I’m here _ .  “Just let it out, don’t hold back.  No one else is here but us.”

That was all it took to crack the fragile glass that was Yuri.  Face contorting in unconstrained grief, he pushed himself first into the outstretched hand, then closer still, icy fingers grasping for purchase as he shifted closer on numb legs.  Touch-starved and grief-stricken, Yuri wrapped his arms around the neck of the man he professed to hate, burying his sobs in the front of Yuuri’s warm up jacket as he crawled into his lap.

“I didn’t know, to start off with.”  Yuuri’s arms reached up to wrap around the slight form that had curled against him, holding him close.  He seemed too cold, held too much pain, and while there was little he could do to help save actually being there, he had resolved to do at least that much.  “She was purring, until she fell asleep.   _ So  _ loud.  She seemed so  _ happy _ , and I-”  Yuri’s murmurs devolved into a low, pained whine and Yuuri could do little but hold him tighter.  “I think she knew.  I think she knew she was dying, and it was her way of saying goodbye.  I went to stroke her, and she wasn’t...she wasn’t  _ breathing _ .  There was nothing left, she was just gone, and she went so  _ cold _ .”

“Where is she now?”

“At home.  I just-”  Swallowing down bile and heartbreak, Yuri seemed to relax slightly as Yuuri’s hand made its way to his hair, combing through the now long strands of gold.  “I couldn’t be there, with her, and I didn’t know what to do.  She was  _ so cold _ .  So I came here.”

So he hadn’t slept, then.  Catching a tangle with his thumb, Yuuri carefully eased it free, before resuming the slow, measured drag of his fingers.  “Yuri, do you remember when we first met?”  He was treading on thin ice, he knew, but this could be just the thing Yuri needed to know, to  _ hear _ .  The younger skater went quiet for a moment, breaths too loud in the quiet of the changing room, before he finally nodded.

“You were in the bathroom, crying.”

“Did I ever tell you  _ why _ I was crying?”  He felt the shake of Yuri’s head, ‘no’, before it tucked under his chin, hair tickling at his neck.  “It was after the free skate - I’d done pretty badly, came last by a large margin.  My score for the short program was really bad too.”

“What the fuck’s that got to do with anything?”  There was very little in the way of animosity there, but Yuuri was no fool; that could change in a moment if he said or did the wrong thing.

“I had a phonecall, from my Mother, the morning of the short program.  An hour and a half before I was due to go out on the ice.  My dog - Vicchan, a poodle just like Makkachin - I’d had him since I was a little kid, and he was my whole world.  When she told me he’d passed away that morning, I didn’t know what to do.  I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t stop crying, and by the time my turn came around I was a complete mess.”  Yuri had gone rigid in his arms.  Slowly, he pulled away, wide blue eyes staring up with a mix of horror and agony, rimmed in red and tinged with exhaustion.

“You went out on the ice, after  _ that? _ ”  He seemed almost stunned, fingers trembling where they still gripped at the fabric of Yuuri’s jacket.

“I’m not saying that  _ you  _ should.  And I’m not saying that your pain is any less valid because of my own, but I needed you to know that I do understand some of what you’re feeling, and I’m here for you however you need me.”   _ As no one was there for me _ .

The tears still flowed, though less now as Yuri gradually cried himself out, and the grief had dulled to a numbness that still hurt if he prodded at it, yet was more bearable.  It was only a temporary reprieve, he knew; he would have to go home eventually, would need to work out what to do with the body, and the resulting agony as his chest was once more torn open at the loss of the one creature on the planet who seemed to care about him as more than just a  _ commodity _ .

It had only been a few hours, and already he missed her dreadfully.

“If you want me to help you put her to rest, I will.”  Yuuri was sure that he could source a shovel from somewhere, and a box.  They would need a headstone, and a spot to bury her, but they would manage somehow.  Yuri nodded from beneath his chin once more, still so small and fragile, but perhaps a fraction less broken now.

“Don’t leave.”  His voice was paper-thin, wavering like a reed, and Yuri quickly swallowed it down before trying again.  “You had better not fucking leave, you hear me Yuura?”

“I wouldn’t dare.”  Yuuri replied, smiling softly into tangled blonde tresses.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation;
> 
> Otva'li - fuck off/get lost  
> Eto piz'dets - this is fucked up  
> Moya koshka - my cat
> 
> I don't actually speak Russian, hopefully I got these right...


End file.
